


Planned Happenstance

by gglow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Boys Kissing, Draco healing Harry, Going on Dates, Healer Draco Malfoy, Kissing, M/M, St Mungo's Hospital, Talking About the Past, confessions of past love, mentions of oral sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26862439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gglow/pseuds/gglow
Summary: Ever since he realized he liked blokes too, there had been an itch in the back of his mind he hadn’t been able to scratch, because he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Alas, to his utter horror, Harry had the most unpleasant inkling that the insufferable, ex-Death Eater turned good, Slytherin tosspot might be exactly the thing he was craving. Maybe he just wanted to explore an avenue, maybe it was an idea just for himself, a thought to be kept locked away forever. And ever.Or,Fresh out of training Healer Draco Malfoy tends to Harry’s wounds a few times and Harry can’t stop thinking about how warm his hands are. This leads to a lot of blushing from both sides.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 156





	Planned Happenstance

Harry’s limbs felt numb and aching. It felt as if he had slept for a week without changing position once. But if he had been sleeping, why did he feel so bloody exhausted? It was like the bed was trying to slowly but surely swallow him. The bed! He was lying on a bed. But it wasn’t his bed, was it? No, the pillow was too soft, and Harry was quite certain there was more than one. His bed only had one flat pillow which made his neck and shoulders sore. Come to think of it, his shoulders felt quite relaxed now, and the usual headache that slowly crept up the back of his head was gone.

Harry was quite ashamed to notice that he hadn’t been this comfortable in ages. His regular headache was gone, and his aching muscles had finally decided to give him a break. He couldn’t even feel his muscles, or his legs, or his arms. Maybe, Harry thought, maybe it wasn’t that his muscles had given him a break rather than… _he_ might have given _them_ a break. From the eventful twelve-hour shifts at the Auror office, with him either sitting in front of his desk writing up a report, shoulders sore, or chasing some criminal through the busy streets of London, a business that usually landed him in the nurse’s office.

But he wasn’t at the nurse’s office at the Ministry. That bed was a lot harder for the back. So, where was he? Harry tried to open his eyes, but it was too bright, so he squeezed them shut tightly. Instead, he tried wriggling his finger. It moved against the soft fabric of the blanket he was tucked under. He tried another finger, then his whole hand. It was effortless. The other arm seemed to be fine too. Then his toes, he could feel all of them, still attached to his working feet, and to his legs that obeyed him by lifting up from the bed and back down. Great. It was time to attempt opening his eyes again, and carefully, Harry squinted at the room he was in.

It was a large room for one person, with two sofas forming a sort of sitting area in the far corner of the space. There was a vase of fresh flowers on the table in front of the setting, and the drawn curtains filtered gentle light onto the bed. Harry’s wand was placed on another side table just a bit out of reach from the bed he was lying in. Right, Harry thought, he had somehow managed to get himself sent to St Mungo’s. Robards would simply love that – they were understaffed as it was.

Harry tried to think of the last thing he remembered before waking up in this inhumanely comfortable bed. All of his memories felt terribly faded, like he was trying to remember something from a drunken night, everything was just out of reach and somehow disjointed. He remembered answering an emergency call with Ron, but nothing from the actual mission. Where had they gone? Was it Watford? Or Harrow? Somewhere further away?

Before Harry was able to come to any specific conclusion, the door to his room opened, and a plump lady in nurse’s robes entered. Her eyes widened a little bit upon seeing Harry look back at her, but just cleared her throat in a most friendly way. “Good morning dear,” she chirped at Harry, conjuring up a glass of water and pushing it into Harry’s hand, “I thought my charms detected some movement here, glad to see you’re finally awake, how do you feel?” She pointed her wand at the window and the curtains pulled themselves aside swiftly, ribbons tying the fabric neatly to either side.

Harry took an obedient sip from the fresh water in his hand, he hadn’t realized how parched his throat was. “What do you mean… finally awake?” he inquired, confused. How long had he been asleep? How long had he been in the hospital? What had really happened to him, and most importantly, was Ron okay? He was fairly sure it was Ron who he had gone out on a mission with. And if Harry had ended up in the hospital, where was Ron? A quick shiver of panic spread from Harry’s spine to his limbs, and he propped himself up on the bed.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” said the nurse and gave Harry a well-rehearsed smile, “rest now, a Healer will be with you in just a few moments.” And before Harry could ask anything more, the lady turned on her heel and tottered out of the room.

 _Bloody hell_ , Harry thought as he fell back on the bed, momentarily forgetting that he was still holding a glass of water, and spilling it on his robes and the covers. Fuck, and Harry couldn’t do a wandless Accio on his wand either to dry himself up. He suddenly felt very exhausted and settled for emptying the water glass, setting it on a table within his reach. He just needed to relax, it would be fine. Except that he couldn’t relax, he needed to know where Ron was, and he needed to know right now.

But first, he needed his wand. Harry stuck his arm out determinedly, and very firmly pronounced: “Accio!” The wand on the table started trembling but didn’t move one nudge towards him. Harry let out a sigh of frustration, usually he could have done this in his sleep. And he had, before. So, he reached his arm out again, towards his wand, and demanded again: “Accio!” Nothing. Even the tremble had stopped now.

Bollocks. So he had to do it the old-fashioned way. Carefully feeling his numb muscles, Harry sat up on the bed and threw the covers aside. His hospital robes were smooth and shorter than he thought they would be – he didn’t want to know why. Also, he didn’t seem to be wearing any pants underneath – he didn’t want to know the reason for that, either. Laboriously, Harry set his feet on the cold floor. His legs had started to tingle in the most unpleasant way that inexplicably reminded him of the static in Dudley’s television when they were kids.

Harry took a deep breath, he could do this. He couldn’t feel his legs, but they worked, didn’t they? With one determined shove, Harry pushed himself off the bed, and lunged forwards, except that his feet didn’t exactly step forward so much as just wobbled and gave up, and so, Harry found himself on the floor of his hospital room.

Along with it being utterly bewildering to find that his legs had not carried Harry as they should have, it was also the most opportune moment for someone to enter the room. It wasn’t so much someone as it was his Healer, and it wasn’t so much his Healer as it was Draco sodding _Malfoy_ , peering down at him, the surprise on his face surely mirroring Harry’s.

As Harry stared Malfoy directly in the face, he became extremely aware of the fact that he still wasn’t wearing any underwear. The quick smirk teetering on the side of Malfoy’s face was almost feral, but he replaced it quickly with polite amusement, which didn’t please Harry one bit.

“Malfoy!?” Harry demanded from the floor. This wasn’t how he wanted to confront his childhood enemy, he would have much preferred to be arresting him, for example, or at least laying in his hospital bed like a normal person, and not scrambling on the floor like a maniac. The thought sent Harry to scurry up from where he was half-sitting, flinging himself to the safety of the warm bed. “What in the name of Merlin are you doing here? And why are you dressed as a Healer?” As the words escaped his mouth, Harry realized he hadn’t the faintest clue about what had become of Malfoy after Hogwarts. After his father got life in Azkaban and his mother house arrest under supervision. Harry felt his face heat up from embarrassment long gone.

“Potter,” Malfoy replied, lifting one thin eyebrow at Harry, who was now trying to gather his blanket to cover his lap, “not to worry, this isn’t some evil ruse to get to the Chosen One,” he disclosed coolly and started flipping through a clipboard in his hand that Harry hadn’t seen was there. “I work here,” he added dryly without lifting his eyes from the parchments and merely pointed his long finger to his hospital ID that was attached to the front of his robes.

_St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

_Dr. Malfoy, D.L._

_NO: 5401_

_Medical Staff_

_Healer_

“You’re a Healer?” Harry repeated dumbly, he couldn't believe what he was looking at. When had that happened? He hadn’t heard anything about Malfoy for years! Seven years to be accurate. How long did Healer training last? Harry had heard it was incredibly hard to pass the entrance exam, how in the hell had _Malfoy_ of all people gotten in?

“Don’t sound too surprised, Potter, you’re being impolite,” Malfoy scoffed and lowered his clipboard to look at Harry from under his brows evaluatively, “I didn’t just march in if that’s what you’re wondering, I was already prepping to take all of my N.E.W.T.s needed to get in before all of that unpleasantness started. I studied my courses and passed my exams under house arrest. Including the intake exam for the Academy, so if you don’t mind.”

Harry found himself staring. There must have been somebody who knew that Malfoy was aiming to get into the Academy of Medicine and Healing, and they hadn’t gone to the papers about it. The whole situation was completely bizarre, Harry thought, as he measured Malfoy with his eyes: he was still tall and lanky, as arsey-looking as always, but his hair was longer, it fell past his sharp cheekbones and curled a little at the ends. His silvery eyes contrasted the lime green robes, and Harry didn’t even have the common sense not to gawk. He couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with Malfoy that hadn't yet side-tracked to them insulting each other.

Then Harry realized that Malfoy was there as his Healer, and actually might have some medical news to share. Maybe he knew what had happened to Ron, and why the hell Harry was in St Mungo’s. “So,” Harry started, and found his voice cracking, _shit_ , “why am I here, and why are all of my limbs numb, and why can’t I summon my wand?”

Malfoy looked almost amused, which irritated Harry to no end, but he fought to keep his tongue. He needed answers more than he needed to pick a fight, however refreshing it might feel. “So impatient, Merlin,” Malfoy murmured under his breath before glancing at the clipboard again, “you were brought here last Wednesday by the Weasel–, I mean, Mr. Weasley. Apparently, you two had been on an Auror call when someone hit you with a Stupefy and flew you through a wall and two flights of stairs. If I may offer my _professional_ opinion, Potter, I am positively astonished by how you’ve managed to stay alive despite the immense degree of stupidity you obviously suffer from–“

“Hey!” Harry protested, “How is it my fault if some perp manages to hit me with a spell? I wasn’t bloody well _meaning_ to be blasted off!”

The look of distaste on Malfoy’s face seeped annoyance, and Harry felt like he might have said something utterly stupid to elicit such discontentment. “You broke fifteen bones, Potter, that’s fourteen more than our usual patients. We had to give you a strong sleeping drought to keep you under while Skele-Gro worked its magic, otherwise you’d never have endured the pain,” Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“I’ll have you know I was awake when they grew back my arm bones!” Harry huffed, “After Lockhart Vanished them by accident.” He tried to hold back a cringe when he thought how much that had hurt back when he was twelve. Maybe it was better they put him under, but the next question was then, how long had he been asleep?

“Good times,” Malfoy replied dryly, “but _I’ll_ have _you_ know that there are only three bones in your arm, of which you regrew two. That’s seven and a half times less than you shattered last week.”

How had Malfoy known how many bones Harry had had to grow at the hospital wing? And more importantly: “Last week?” Harry demanded, “What day is today?” he sat up straighter in his bed.

“It’s Tuesday,” Malfoy shrugged, “don’t worry, I’ve been checking up on you every shift to make sure your pillows were comfortable.”

It was obviously sarcastic, but suddenly Harry felt very uncomfortable by the thought that Malfoy had been hovering around his sleeping body. He still didn’t trust the git completely, Healer robes or no. “ _Tuesday?_ Merlin, no wonder my legs are jelly,” he huffed, “so Ron’s okay? I mean, he didn’t end up here?” _Or at the morgue_ , Harry thought, but refrained from saying it out loud.

“You can relax, your beloved Weasel is still intact, he and Granger have been visiting you every day, despite the Healers telling them you’d only be waking up beginning of this week, insufferable loyalty I say,” Malfoy placed the clipboard back on the foot of Harry’s bed, “now, if you don’t mind sitting up some more…” he fished out a stethoscope and flung it around his neck with routine, before giving Harry a meaningful look.

“Er… what?” Harry asked dumbly, which earned an eye roll from the blond git.

“Calm down, I merely have to perform some standard checks on you before a decision can be made about when you’ll be discharged. So if you’d be so kind as to disrobe your chest and I’ll have a listen,” Malfoy explained with terrifying nonchalance as he lifted the stethoscope to his ears and held up the round end in his long fingers.

Harry obeyed, though reluctantly, and pulled off the upper part of his hospital robes. They were open in the back so he just tugged his arms out of the sleeves with a rustle, and waited for Malfoy to approach. “Big inhale,” Malfoy commanded silently and gently pressed the cold round end onto Harry’s bare chest. It felt way too intimate for comfort. Malfoy was standing very close, and smelled of green apple and peppermint, his hand warm and firm on Harry’s shoulder. Why that sent a pleasant shudder through Harry, he didn’t want to think about. He was grateful for the big inhale, it steadied him. Malfoy moved the stethoscope on the other side of his chest, and then on his back, listening quietly.

Then, “Merlin, Potter, you don’t have to be so nervous. If nothing else, it’s against my Hippogriffic Oath to off you on duty,” Malfoy huffed and shook his head, taking a step back and tugging the stethoscope off. Harry hadn’t realized that his heart had been racing, and was unpleasantly aware that it had little to do with being afraid of Malfoy. He felt his face heat up. “Well, at least there’s nothing wrong with the blood circulation to your face,” Malfoy added teasingly and marked something on the clipboard, before taking his wand out of his pocket. It wasn’t Malfoy’s wand. It was white and straight and plain.

“But I gave you your wand back,” Harry said before he could stop himself, and then pulled a face when he tore his eyes off the wand and onto Malfoy’s face to suffer the consequences of his inability to shut the hell up.

But Malfoy merely nodded, though he seemed amused at Harry’s constant confusion about things. “Indeed you did, but as you already noticed yourself, civilian magic is not allowed at this ward,” he raised his eyebrows smugly, “you know, for your safety, and mine. Healer magic only, and this is a Healer’s wand, capable only of medical use, but very powerful one at that.” Malfoy raised the wand, and a few spells tingled over Harry. Check-ups, he suspected, as Malfoy once again marked something down on the clipboard.

“Brilliant, your vitals look good, looks like we’re only going to have to keep you overnight, standard procedure,” Malfoy explained and Harry couldn't help noticing how nicely his hair framed his face while he looked down at his notes, “I’ll come by tomorrow to run some final checks and then you’re good to go.” When Malfoy raised his eyes back to Harry, Harry couldn't help blushing, but blamed it on being half naked in a bed in front of _Malfoy_ of all people. Malfoy who was now a _Healer_ , Harry still couldn't get over it. He felt like he had so many questions, too many to ask right now, anyway. So, he just nodded. He would be off tomorrow, that’s good, right?

“Right then, see you tomorrow, Saviour,” Malfoy quirked his eyebrow while pocketing his wand, and before Harry could protest, vanished back through the door in a swish of green robes and blond hair.

***

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had joined the Auror training together with Ron and Neville. He had been full of determination to clear Britain of any supporters of Voldemort that might have still been lurking somewhere – an ambitious goal for any eighteen-year-old to have. Although the training had been everything he had hoped for, the work itself, as it turned out, was not. The three years he was training with Ron were, in hindsight, probably the happiest years of his life, aside from the fact that he had broken up with Ginny a few months after he’d started training.

After the Battle, and after the funerals, and the seemingly endless stream of court appearances and hearings, he and Ginny had both been too tired to focus on each other, or themselves for that matter. It felt as though they were trying to force something that just wasn’t going to happen, trying to reignite a spark that had come and gone. It didn’t mean it wasn’t any less hard for them to finally admit it and call it quits. But Harry had had his training, and Ginny had still been in Hogwarts, gearing up for her N.E.W.T.s, before being approached by the Holyhead Harpies after a particularly successful game of Quidditch.

It had been a few months later that Harry had found himself snogging some girl at a bar. A giggling brunette who wouldn’t let go of his bicep the whole night after she recognized who he was. After that Harry had gotten around a bit, nothing that he was particularly ashamed (or proud) of, especially when he was drunk at a pub and past the point of caring to not take advantage of his reputation as the Saviour of the Wizarding World. First, it had been girls, then it had been a bloke who bought him coffee, with blue eyes and blond hair, and Harry hadn’t thought much of it. But he had realized he’d started looking at men around him differently, he hadn’t thought it was anything he hadn’t done before, but having been with a man it suddenly became a lot more real, beyond just looking. And after a very awkward and a little tipsy conversation he had had with Hermione, she just rolled her eyes, informing Harry that he was most probably bisexual, and that it was completely normal and nothing to be weirded out about.

Once Harry had finished his Auror training, ready to start hunting down the lowlifes of London, they had put him and Ron on desk duty for the first year. Neville had already left to study Herbology – ‘more his speed’ according to him – and Ron had told Harry that if he was going to leave him to study some similar bollocks he would personally arrest him the day he got his clearance. They stuck through it together, and they suffered the desk duty, before finally being paired off with senior Aurors for some routine rounds.

This had been three years ago, and Harry had steadily managed to get himself and Ron in on bigger cases until they had finally been able to check out calls themselves. Perhaps Harry had gotten too confident… no, not perhaps, he had _definitely_ gotten too confident, having landed himself at St Mungo’s, being once again checked by Draco bloody Malfoy in his irritatingly meticulous Healer robes.

“Alright,” he said more to himself than Harry, “everything seems fine, you’re on track for recovering your complete bone density by Friday. Until then, no heavy exercise, no alcohol, no sex, and no Side-Alonging, Floo network only.” Harry felt completely ridiculous blushing when Malfoy mentioned sex – in his mind the git had always been just an annoying nuisance who either didn’t know about sex or considered himself too good for it. Now Harry felt very childish for his lack of re-evaluation.

Malfoy had grown into his features quite nicely, more than Harry would have cared to admit. His hair was still platinum and his eyes piercing silver, but he seemed more grown up, Harry wondered if he seemed the same way to Malfoy. The blond hair was a bit longer than it had once been, and in their length the strands started getting wavy at the ends. Malfoy was still slim, but not scrawny like he used to be. His annoying cheekbones now settled into his face that Harry cursed to call handsome. And most importantly, his fingers were warm on Harry’s shoulder when he felt the joints of Harry’s bones through his hot skin. Blast it all. Blast it all to hell.

“Right, er, thanks,” Harry mumbled awkwardly once Malfoy had deemed him fit to be discharged. He felt the red of his chest rising on his face as he pulled the hospital robe back on at lightning speed.

The git seemed to falter half a second, before giving Harry a tight half-smirk from the corner of his mouth, accompanied by an eye roll. “Don’t be a cock, Potter, I hope I never see you again.”

***

“Back so soon?” Malfoy lifted his thin eyebrow and eyed Harry from behind his clipboard, clearly holding back laughter. His green robes were as immaculate as they had ever been, and in the hospital light, his eyes had a dash of green in them as well. “I didn’t know my healing skills left such an indelible impression. Or maybe you’re just an idiot for drinking any sodding liquid handed to you… now that I think about it, that must be the case.”

Harry rolled his eyes behind his large beard. “Oh, shut up Malfoy, aren’t there any other Healers in this hospital aside from you?” he was sitting on the edge of a bed at St Mungo’s emergency room, the curtains drawn around the bed for privacy, as Harry had been waiting for someone to attend to him, hoping that it wouldn’t be Malfoy. Alas.

“Plenty,” Malfoy smirked – _smirked!_ – “but they give the truly hopeless cases to us rookies.” So, Malfoy was still a fairly fresh Healer out of training then? Harry had no idea how long the Academy lasted, only that it was extremely selective of its candidates – clearly, someone had bungled there. “Tell me again exactly _why_ you look eighty years older than you should be? Unless being the bloody Chosen One is much harder work than I thought,” Malfoy’s tone was sarcastic, but his face looked absolutely delighted at Harry’s situation.

Harry gave a defeated sigh. “I promised George to try his new ageing potion for the shop, only the effect didn’t wear off after thirty minutes as promised,” he murmured in annoyance. He wasn’t annoyed at George as such, more at himself for always agreeing to everything, and definitely at Malfoy for being a git about the whole affair.

“Right,” Malfoy’s mouth twitched into a polite smile, “and tell me, how long have you strutted the streets of London in your current state?” something about even the way he was holding his quill at the ready annoyed Harry to no compare. He just wanted to look like himself again and continue on with his life. This was not the Friday night he had planned. Although sitting at home eating pizza and watching muggle telly wasn’t really a plan either, as Ron kept reminding him.

“Four hours,” Harry replied begrudgingly and tried his best to ignore the look of delight on Malfoy’s face. The beard was ticklish and he was constantly sitting on his long hair, hurting his scalp by accident. “Now can you please just return me to normal? My joints are aching,” he complained, frustrated.

Malfoy flashed him an extremely amused grin, white teeth and all. Suddenly, Harry was grateful for the beard and the hair, they hid his reddening face quite well, what the bloody hell was the matter with him? Maybe… he hadn’t seen Malfoy since his earth-shattering realization of liking both girls and blokes, right? He couldn’t for the life of him understand why his brain would want to make everything more complicated than it had to be. He disliked Malfoy, didn’t he? Then why was he nervous right now? Why did his spine tingle when Malfoy smiled at him? Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.

“Relax old man,” Malfoy retorted and returned the quill to his pocket, “just give me a second.” Then he turned around and marched through the curtain to the busy hallway, leaving Harry scratching his beard and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Once he was out of the hospital, he would never return there again, not before he was certain that it was a Malfoy-free zone. He didn’t welcome these new thoughts that his brain was generating at full speed.

Ever since he had realized he liked blokes too, there had been an itch in the back of his mind he hadn’t been able to scratch, because he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Alas, to his utter horror, Harry had the most unpleasant inkling that the insufferable, ex-Death Eater turned good, Slytherin tosspot might be exactly the thing he was craving. Maybe he just wanted to explore an avenue, maybe it was an idea just for himself, a thought to be kept locked away forever. And ever.

Before Harry could be sucked deeper into his personal pit of despair, Malfoy returned with a vial. Harry hated how fast his heart was suddenly racing, being startled from his thoughts. The liquid inside the vial was light blue and swirled around a little. Malfoy handed the small bottle to Harry, who uncorked it and, after a suspicious glance at Malfoy – who looked intrigued like he was observing an exotic zoo animal –, knocked it down in one go.

After a few seconds, the beard and the long hair started vanishing along with the bushy eyebrows, and Harry’s bones didn’t ache anymore. Malfoy handed Harry a small mirror to see his reflection. It looked ordinary: he was back to his twenty-five-year-old self. “Wonderful,” Malfoy cleared his throat, “all back to normal, or as normal as you ever were, anyway,” he didn’t even bother mumbling the last part, the bastard. “How are the joints?”

“Better, I think it’s all cleared up,” Harry nodded and put down the mirror, “although you could’ve taken a few more years off me, heh.” What was he _doing_? Was he making a _joke_? To _Malfoy_? Maybe he should just see himself straight into the Janus Thickey ward, claim an acute mental disturbance.

“You better not be having an age crisis at twenty-five,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, he had clearly abandoned all hope of professionalism, “for what it’s worth, I think you look better now than you used to.” Harry’s head jerked to look at Malfoy in disbelief, he was _definitely_ suffering from an acute mental disturbance with hallucinations, because there was clearly no way that Draco Malfoy had just called him good looking, was there?

Judging on Malfoy’s face, however, he had indeed done so, and was now regretting it severely. “Well, since we’re all done here, excuse me while I go Obliviate myself, and I sincerely wish I never see you again,” the git mumbled and once again vanished through the curtain, ears flaming red, before giving Harry the chance to say that Draco, too, looked a lot better than he used to, and that he wasn’t so bad to begin with, either.

***

“Merlin, Potter, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re always here just to see me,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, blushing only a little bit from his ears, “what is it this time?” The notorious clipboard was nowhere to be seen, instead, Malfoy was sitting in a ghastly, worn office chair, his left elbow leaning on the desk and his right hand on his knee. The expression on his face was simultaneously tired and amused.

“I, er, seem to have hurt my ankle, I can’t really walk with it,” Harry explained, feeling his face heating up. How he wished he had some kind of a magical complaint, maybe if he had accidentally dyed his hair green, or Vanished his bollocks, or _something_. But, alas, he was at the hospital again, and he was uncomfortable in his knowledge that he might have actually come here instead of going to the Healer at the Ministry just so he could see Malfoy. But no one had to know, right? It wasn’t like it was painfully obvious why he was here again, was it? Except that it was, since Malfoy himself had brought it up. Harry wanted to die just a little bit.

“Right,” Malfoy’s face looked weary as he fished his wand from his robe pocket. Harry was surprised to see that his uniform wasn’t so immaculate anymore – it was crumpled here and there, and Malfoy’s collar was wonky. “Which leg?” he asked, and pointed his wand towards the one Harry wiggled painfully. Harry could feel a tingling sensation of the diagnosis charm on his left ankle. “Been duelling criminals at work again?” Malfoy asked, but it sounded more like an attempt at polite rapport than sarcasm.

Harry was embarrassed to answer. “No, er, I tripped on my way down the stairs a few days ago.”

Malfoy pocketed his wand and rose from his chair. “Of course you did,” he replied wearily as he strode over to the medicine cabinet to pull out two small bottles. “Well, it seems like a standard sprain, the ligaments in your left ankle are torn,” Malfoy sat back down on the chair, it made an agonizing squeaking sound, “here, this one’s for the pain, taken as needed,” he handed Harry a vial of see-through liquid, “and this one’s for the ankle, take a sip morning and night until it’s all gone, and take fifteen minutes a day to prop up your foot and put something cold on it. And do I need to say it? No running or jumping, or anything that’ll make this worse.”

“Right, cheers,” Harry accepted the vials and slipped them in his pocket. This hadn’t really gone exactly the way he hoped. To tell the truth, he hadn’t really known what he was going to do, he had always been better at winging things than planning them. Next time he’d just have to dye his pubes blue or something. “Malfoy, are you okay? You seem a bit… off,” Harry simply couldn’t hold the question inside, he was an Auror for Merlin’s sakes. It was his job to ask questions.

“Brilliant, you’re my last patient of this twenty-four-hour shift, so if you wouldn’t mind fucking off so I can go home and get some sleep,” Malfoy ran his hand over his dishevelled hair and Harry followed the movement with his eyes. “Anyway, when did you start caring how I am, I thought you hated me, showing up here to torment me, although I fail to see how you’ve been attempting to succeed.”

Suddenly there were many things Harry wanted to say, but apparently his mouth had decided to abandon his brain, and just came out with: “I don’t hate you.” Great, just brilliant. He couldn’t have said something about the inhumanely long shift Malfoy was doing? He just _had to_ start about himself again, lovely.

Malfoy’s head jerked up from the paper he was scribbling on. His eyes scanned Harry from head to toe, like he was somehow trying to detect if he was lying or not. “Right, well, I don’t hate you either, believe it or not, so where does that leave us?”

It was a sarcastic question, Harry knew, but he couldn’t drop it. “I dunno, awkward acquaintances?” Malfoy let out a dry laugh and went back to his papers. Now would be a great time to say something, anything, Harry thought. Then he just had to go ahead and say the absolute most idiotic thing he could have ever come up with: “By the way, I didn’t have a chance to say this last time ‘cause you stormed off but, I think you look better now too, you know, than back then…” this was definitely going long way away from something suave, Harry thought as he shot out of the chair to stand up straight and make a run for it, “I, er, like the hair. Sorry if this is weird,” Harry mumbled under Malfoy’s incredulous look that said that it definitely _was_ weird. “Well then, sleep tight, you know, bye.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

***

“Malfoy, fancy seeing you here,” Harry grinned at the blond man awkwardly sitting in one of the chairs in the Ministry waiting room on Level Two: Magical Law Enforcement. He tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating, and heat once again spreading to his face. But he was glad for the switch in setting and dynamic – he wasn’t at St Mungo’s, being treated by Malfoy. No. This time the git had come to him.

Malfoy looked up, startled out of his thoughts, and there was a flash of something in his eyes as he took in Harry’s presence: his fitted black jacket and trousers – albeit a tad wrinkled and the topmost button of his jacket open – completed with dragonhide boots, a bit muddy but sturdy. Quickly whatever had been on Malfoy’s face was extinguished and the corner of his mouth turned into a mocking smile that Harry didn’t much appreciate. “Stylish, I can always count on you looking like you’ve woken up from a ditch somewhere,” Malfoy scoffed and stood up, straightening his trousers.

Seeing Malfoy out of his Healer robes was a somewhat bizarre experience. And he wasn’t dressed in his usual robes either to spare Harry’s peace of mind, no, he was wearing _muggle clothes_. Black wool trousers hid the ankles of his pointy boots, he was wearing a turtleneck whose colour Harry could only describe as mocha, all under a dark grey woollen coat, collar up, naturally. The sight was thrilling in a way Harry didn’t care to get into, and he tried not to stare. Just as Malfoy had attempted earlier, he realized. Was Malfoy…? No, it was Harry who was going mad.

“Alright, follow me, you dickhead,” Harry rolled his eyes and tried not to respond to the smirk that spread on Malfoy’s face. Harry led him to a spacious office space with six large desks and piles upon piles of paperwork, parchments laying on every feasible surface. Only two other Aurors were there aside from them, and they were so deeply buried in their stacks of paper they wouldn't flinch when Harry entered, Malfoy a step behind him.

Harry took a seat at his desk at the back of the room and motioned Malfoy to sit down on the chair next to the table. The git gave a look of distaste at the space, and then a more suspicious glance at the desk next to Harry. “That Weasley?” he asked, and inspected the table with such distrust Harry was going to tell him that desks at the Ministry weren’t in the habit of devouring the employees.

However, he settled for nodding. “Yeah, he’s at lunch with Hermione,” he clarified, “where I would be right now too if Robards hadn’t told me that someone was coming from St Mungo’s to report something.” Harry cleared his desk from the previous parchments he had been going over, and opened his desk drawer to pull out a stack of forms. Oh, how he loathed paperwork, he’d rather get blasted off a roof than see one more interdepartmental memo on his desk. Especially if Malfoy would be there to take care of him with his warm fingers. Ahem.

“So sorry, Potter, I regret having to make you do your job,” Malfoy sneered, back to normal already.

Harry let out a deep sigh, but couldn't be bothered to rise to the bait. “Right, so what brings you here, Malfoy?” he asked politely, his self-writing quill at the ready beside him.

“Someone’s been stealing potions from our storage at the hospital,” Malfoy said and leaned back in his chair, “they sent me to file a report since I’m working on that floor, and they can’t be bothered to run errands.” Something deep inside Harry said that maybe it wasn’t so much them making Malfoy come here as him volunteering to do so, but it was a very small voice very deep within, sometimes also called wishful thinking.

“Right, and where exactly have these potions been taken from?” Harry asked, eyeing the form.

“Third floor, the Potions Department,” Malfoy articulated, his gaze now lazily scanning Harry, making his palms sweaty.

“And who has access to the storage, do you know?” Harry was trying to keep his tone professional and light, but was struggling.

“Staff only,” Malfoy replied.

It went on like this for the better part of twenty minutes as Harry – or the self-writing quill – was taking notes of Malfoy’s statement. Someone had been stealing some very valuable, rare potions from the third-floor cooling storage, and they couldn’t find out who it was, so they were forced to report it to the Aurors. Finally, the quill set itself back down into a bottle of ink, and Harry leafed through the details, it seemed that he had everything he needed. “Right, and you have been working at the hospital for how long now?” he inquired, trying to sound like he was still trying to fill in some gaps in the investigation, rather than pry details of Malfoy’s life.

“Almost a year now,” Malfoy replied, but his eyes were darting to the window, and his hands, avoiding Harry’s stare, “I was an intern for six months, completing the basic Healer training, and after graduation I still have to work at the hospital for a year before I can continue into a specialization.”

“And what do you want to specialize in?” Harry asked before realizing that there was no way he could pretend this was still part of the questioning.

Apparently, Malfoy realized that too, because he gave Harry an odd look. “Treatment for potions and plant poisoning,” he replied silently, but then seemed to remember who he was, and followed it up with a sharp, “what’s it to you, Potter?”

“Er, sorry, I guess I… just wanted to know what you’re doing these days,” Harry felt his face go red and he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, before shrugging, definitely avoiding looking at Malfoy.

Where he expected the git to storm out, he heard him let out a light laugh, and his head all but jerked to look at him in shock. Malfoy was making such an annoying, Malfoy-ish face, that Harry was briefly connected to his eleven-year-old self who just wanted to punch him in the face. “So, you’ve been treated by me three times now, and you’re still wondering what I’m doing these days? Honestly, Potter, it will forever be a mystery to me who even let you be an Auror in the first place, with your infallible skills of deduction,” Malfoy looked like every word he spoke rejuvenated him from some kind of a rut he had been in, his face was positively glowing being able to make a jab at Harry, “how’s the ankle, by the way?”

Harry crossed his arms on his chest, all of this was completely unfair. He didn’t have anything to taunt Malfoy with – he had been perfectly adequate as a magical physician. “I don’t know, maybe you were there for… for…” Harry couldn't come up with one reason for why Malfoy would’ve been roaming about in Healer robes and ID unless he was actually… well, a Healer.

“Is this going somewhere, or am I free to leave?” Malfoy sat straighter in the chair, his hands on the arms, looking like he was ready to jump up and stride out any second.

Harry frowned. “’Course you’re free to leave, you’re here at your own volition,” he remarked, and now it was Malfoy’s time to blush, it was always from the ears, Harry noticed, even though he tried not to. He decided to ignore this detail that made his heart race and be so merciful as to change the subject. “So, how come you’re wearing muggle clothes, then?”

The look on Malfoy’s face turned from tight embarrassment to a somewhat more relaxed sneer, his chin lifting up to that familiar along-the-nose glare. “Not that it’s any of your business,” the git flung his fringe off his face with an arrogance that made Harry’s stomach coil, “but I found that not all muggle wear is terrible, some even look quite nice. Not that you would know anything about fashion.”

Harry wanted to act offended about the quip directed at him, but then something more provocative dawned on him, and a self-satisfied grin spread on Harry’s face. “So why’d you want to look good here, then, huh Malfoy? Aren’t you just here for work?”

A furious red spread from Malfoy’s ears to his face and his expression tightened again to something heated. “I just like to look nice, that’s all,” he murmured through gritted teeth, and his stare was trying to pierce Harry’s face. 

Harry nodded politely and tried to smother an amused smirk that was fighting its way to his face. He wanted to be sincerer than that, because in all honestly, his heart was beating out of his chest. “Well, you do look nice, so mission accomplished, heh,” he said awkwardly, and scratched the back of his head. He was so fucked.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Potter, am I having a sudden aneurysm or did you just pay me a compliment?” he asked dryly.

Harry spread his arms to mark his innocence. “You gave me a compliment first!” he protested weakly, and immediately wanted to bang his head against the desk for saying it. He might as well quit his job and disappear into some faraway country forever.

But instead of mocking Harry, Malfoy spared him the embarrassment by continuing the argument. “When!?” he demanded, and his voice rose an octave, upon which the two other Aurors at the front of the room gave an absentminded glance their way before returning to their paperwork. Malfoy cleared his throat but didn’t repeat the question.

Harry found that his voice was now coming out quite high-pitched as well. “When you told me I look nicer now than I used to!” he defended, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning back in the chair.

This awarded a very deep eye roll from Malfoy, who also slouched back in his chair to give Harry an irked stare. “Oh, for Merlin’s sakes, so are we now just dealing in awkward compliments for the end of time!? Also, saying that you look better now than before is hardly a compliment, seeing how you started out.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Wow, thanks so much Malfoy, I feel loads better now,” he replied, annoyed, dropped his arms from his chest and reached for the finished report. He shuffled the papers into a neat pile and placed them inside a cardboard folder, writing _St Mungo’s potions theft report_ onto its cover.

It was quiet for a minute as Harry worked, determined not to engage Malfoy anymore. If he wanted to be a wanker, then so be it. It truly wasn’t Harry’s problem in the slightest, and whatever his heart thought he was feeling towards the git, well, it was clearly some kind of a blip. It would pass.

But then Malfoy broke the silence, possibly having realized that he wouldn’t get much out of Harry by antagonizing him. “So… you like my hair now, do you?” he murmured, and almost absentmindedly swiped a strand behind his ear. His eyes were dark and his face familiarly complacent.

Harry felt his neck heat up, and his ears, but he kept his stare firmly on the folder in front of him. “I… might,” he admitted, plopping the quill back into the ink bottle.

It was quiet for a few seconds longer, and Harry didn’t know how to pretend to be doing something as an excuse to not look at Malfoy. But Malfoy had clearly decided to ignore whatever awkwardness was sure to accompany the conversation. “So, what are you doing Friday night?” he asked determinedly.

Now Harry’s eyes shot to Malfoy so quickly he almost pulled a muscle from his neck. The git seemed to be serious, his silver eyes measuring Harry up and down, his face red in splotches. “I, erm, I don’t get off until ten,” Harry answered, before realizing it didn’t really answer the question at all. He was afraid of where this might be going, although it seemed unlikely.

Malfoy raised his chin to face Harry’s confused stare. “Let’s have a drink then,” he said simply.

“Um, what?” Harry asked in disbelief. Had Malfoy just asked him out… on _a date_? Surely not, Harry was misunderstanding this, somehow.

Now Malfoy rolled his eyes again. “For fuck’s sake, Potter, don’t be such a knob. Will you have a drink with me on Friday?”

It was worth remarking that at this point Harry’s heart felt like a Snitch trying to flutter its way right out of his chest. Good thing Malfoy was a Healer, in case his heart actually left his body. “Like a… like a date?” Harry already felt like a wanker saying it, but couldn't help himself.

Malfoy shrugged, all too nonchalantly for how deep red his face had gone. “If you want. I can always hex you after so you can tell everyone I lured you into a trap with my handsome looks,” he smirked at Harry, but seemed to be clinging onto the arms of the chair like he was about to fall off it.

“Right, er, yeah, sure, let’s have a drink,” Harry replied. He would’ve smiled but his face had gone completely numb.

Malfoy looked a lot of things, on top of everything relieved. “Brilliant, see you Friday,” he announced, and shot up from the chair, giving Harry a nervous smile and strode out of the room. Harry could’ve sworn he saw Malfoy’s hand shake a little before he shoved it in his coat pocket, and was soothed in knowing he wasn’t the only one who was positively shaking in his boots.

He felt as if he had just taken a step towards a very ambiguous goal that he hadn’t been aware of. He had a date with Malfoy, and he tried not to think too hard about the implications.

***

“I have to confess, when you said a drink, this wasn’t exactly what I was imagining,” Harry said as he was eyeing a menu that said _Madam Oolong’s Tea Zion._ The yellow parchments were bound in red leather covers, and the golden letters were gleaming in the dim light of the tea house. Harry was sitting in a dark green armchair that almost swallowed him whole, whereas Malfoy had plopped himself down on rose-coloured bergère.

“Yeah?” Draco replied and eyed Harry from behind his menu, “What were you expecting then?” his eyes were gleaming in a way that let Harry know he was already aware of the answer, but Harry decided to take the bait anyway.

“Well, you know,” he scratched the back of his head and put the menu down, “I don’t know, like, beers at a pub or something of the sort.” He was having a hard time concentrating on talking because he was suddenly very aware of how clearly he could make out Malfoy’s bicep through his jumper. Harry had gotten off work at ten past ten, trying to hurry out of the office as fast as he could, not wanting to keep Malfoy waiting. But it has been a bit hard with Ron on his heel, talking his ear off. Normally Harry wouldn’t have minded, but he had been trying to figure out how to explain to Ron that he was going _out on a date_ with Malfoy, of all the sodding people. Luckily, he had forgotten something at his desk, and Harry had quickly bid him good night and slipped away.

He had reached the Atrium and seen Malfoy there, wearing black jeans with the same coat as before, hair gleaming brightly in the light and eyes darting nervously at the ministry workers making their way through the enormous space, even though they didn’t seem all that interested in him. He hadn’t seemed any calmer when Harry had appeared by his side, practically jumping upon hearing his name called. Once he’d noticed it was Harry, though, he soon regained his composure and settled at mocking Harry’s lateness. _Come on, let’s get out of here,_ Harry had said, and the look of relief on Malfoy’s face made Harry realize that this place made him very, very anxious.

Now Malfoy snorted, and put his menu down as well. “Yeah, well, if you can believe it, I’m not one of the most popular people in the wizarding London pub scene at the moment. Usually it’s fine, I can ignore everyone’s looks, but a few drinks change looks into actions. Suddenly, everyone has something to say to me,” he pulled a face and his ears coloured, again.

Harry tried to studiously look anywhere else but at Malfoy. “Right,” was the only thing he managed. He knew Malfoy didn’t want his pity, so he didn’t attempt to say sorry. “So, what is this place anyway?” he asked instead, giving a glance at the room: it was filled with sofas and armchairs, low tables with flowers on them all in different vases, a few dusty chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling. The place seemed quite peaceful and private. The thick carpet and the long curtains sucked up all echo from the space and made quiet conversations possible. It was quite cosy with a rosy scent wafting through the air, and some kind of quiet jazz could be heard in the background.

“It’s a tea room, one of few that are open this late,” Malfoy replied. Indeed, it was eleven at night, and only two other people were sitting on the other side of the room, sipping their tea and engaging in quiet conversation. “So have you decided what you’re going to be having?”

Harry gave one suspicious glance to the open menu on the table, trying to somehow discern which one was closest to regular English Breakfast. “I’ve never even heard about any of these teas, I think I’ll go with the first one, that’s just regular black tea, right?”

Malfoy was already rolling his eyes at Harry. “Merlin, you really enjoy the finer things in life, don’t you?” but before Harry could protest, he added, “Fine, have it your way.” Then he proceeded to recite his order to an old lady who had suddenly appeared to hover next to their table. Harry remarked from the menu that the one Malfoy opted for was a rose petal tea with some other flower or herb he’d never heard of either. Malfoy also ordered fresh scones with jam.

After the lady had left, Harry raised his eyebrows at Malfoy, who shrugged defensively. “I have a sweet tooth, what about it?”

Harry felt it odd but pleasant in a way to learn such things about Malfoy. Things that made him a little more human and a little less… well, _Malfoy_. At least, the Malfoy he knew. What a nonchalant little detail to know about someone. Harry couldn’t help blushing, but once he started he couldn’t seem to be able to stop, so he just smiled at Malfoy nervously and shook his head.

“I heard you’re making progress with our case,” Malfoy said and leaned back in his chair. “Personally, I can’t stand thieves. Such a stupid little crime, just goes off to show bad upbringing,” he wrinkled his long nose in distaste.

Harry was shaking his leg anxiously. “Yeah, er, I’m not on the case, actually. It got redirected to one of our senior Aurors,” he said, and was painfully aware that he wasn’t coming off as the most dynamic Auror, at least not one he had wanted to be. “But don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

“Oh,” Malfoy replied simply, and eyed Harry with an expression that was uncomfortably knowing. Thankfully, he didn’t ask more about it, Harry didn’t really want to get into it at the moment. “So, get into any more near-death accidents lately?” Malfoy crossed his long legs, another detail Harry had noticed, and gave a very Malfoy-ish smirk.

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, grateful for the change in topic. “If I had, I’d assume you’d know about it.”

“Contrary to your belief, I am in fact _not_ the only Healer in St Mungo’s, no matter how much you’d want it to be me spoon-feeding you pudding,” Malfoy crossed his arms on his chest arrogantly.

Harry tried to hold back a smile spreading on his face. “I _meant_ because the _Prophet_ would definitely do a feature about it,” he said, and enjoyed the colour rising to Malfoy’s cheeks as he studied the flower vase between them. “But, you know, I like pudding so I wouldn't mind,” he added, not sure why he felt compelled to – blast it – make Malfoy feel less awkward.

But the git’s face turned from tight embarrassment to something more relaxed and he snorted. “Keep on dreaming, Potter.”

Harry smiled, and it was quiet for a while. It was quite a comfortable silence, but of course, Harry had to go ahead and blurt out: “So, why’d you ask me on a date?” He had asked the question before he could stop himself.

But Malfoy didn’t seem the least bit thrown by this. In fact, the corner of his mouth turned upwards into a smirk, and his eyes were gleaming bright. “To be fair, I only asked you for a drink, and as I recall it was you who turned it into a date, so actually–“

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Harry interrupted him.

Malfoy looked at Harry for a few seconds. “Why’d you agree?” he quirked his eyebrow in intrigue.

“I don’t know,” Harry confessed, and felt his face turn deep purple, “you seem different, somehow.”

“Hardly a reason to agree to a date,” Malfoy scoffed, “but, I suppose, it got you here.”

“So why _am_ _I_ here?” Harry inquired.

Malfoy took a deep breath like he was gearing up to something. “Because… you seemed different too,” he confessed, looking at his hands like they were the most interesting things in the world, he was rolling one of his silver rings around his finger absentmindedly, “slightly less annoying… and maybe I happened to see you without a shirt when they wheeled you into the hospital,” he lifted his head to smirk at Harry nervously.

“ _Malfoy_!” Harry hissed, but had to snap his mouth shut when the waitress returned with their teas, glasses of water, scones, and cream and sugar, setting them down one by one, while Harry was staring at Malfoy intently, his face red as a fire truck.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Potter,” Malfoy hissed back when the lady had gone, and then took a deep breath and laid a very level look on Harry, “I just know that I get nervous when I’m with you, it’s always been like that. Mind you, I never get nervous around _anyone_. And when you look at me _like that_ , I feel… confused,” he shook his head and looked away, “I don’t know what I want. I guess I’m here to find out. I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to actually agree.”

Harry wasn’t sure where to begin to process the tidal wave of information he had just received. He made Malfoy nervous? It certainly hadn’t seemed like it from where he stood, all those years of hating each other. Except, now Harry wasn’t so sure if Malfoy had hated him in the first place, or if he’d hated Malfoy after all… Had this been just a horrifying mistake? Should he leave?

The vulnerable look on Malfoy’s face he was trying very hard to conceal behind his scowl made Harry stay. He was just being nervous, hell, Harry was nervous beyond any rational thought.

So, Harry took a deep breath, studying Malfoy’s face. “Yeah, I guess I’m here to find out, too,” he replied quietly, and Malfoy looked at him suspiciously. “So how’d you decide to become a Healer, then?” Maybe a change of subject was what they needed.

The look on Malfoy’s face made a transition from suspicious to… a little less suspicious, as he swiped a strand of blond hair behind his ear. Harry followed the motion with his eyes, God, what was wrong with him? It was like Malfoy was a magnet that Harry was drawn to, but instead of attracting Harry’s fist into his face, he was attracting something else entirely. It wasn’t worth getting into.

“I was never really into politics, despite my father’s best efforts,” Malfoy started slowly, reaching his arm towards his teacup and dropping two sugars in there along with some cream. “But I liked potions, back in school, and I was good at it. Severus–“ he cut himself off, swallowed hard and frowned, “he told me that St Mungo’s had a ward just for potions, I don’t know, I guess the idea grew on me. After the war, and the trials, and the house arrest, I was more willing to prove myself to _me_ than I ever was to that lot. Be my own man, make something of myself just because _I_ wanted to.”

Harry nodded slowly and reached for his own tea, still steaming gently. He realized he was getting hungry, and picked up a scone from the tray. He was waiting for Malfoy to continue. “Perhaps I’m trying to atone, who knows, heh,” Malfoy took another sip, “after this year I’ll continue to the Potions training.”

A silence fell over them both, as they sipped on their teas in thought. “I’m happy for you,” Harry said suddenly, and his words made Malfoy stop halfway into spreading jam on his scone. He gave a puzzled look towards Harry, but nodded, mumbling something that could have been a _thank you_ , but Harry couldn’t be sure.

“So, what about your Auror business, I’m surprised they haven’t promoted you to Head Auror by now, or the head of the department, even,” Malfoy took a bite out the pastry and studied Harry’s face.

“It’s good, fine,” Harry was holding the warm cup with both hands, “after the training they pretty much stuck us on desk duty, before letting us accompany more experienced Aurors. It’s only been a year since we’ve been able to respond to calls ourselves, well, you see how well it went,” he rolled his eyes more to himself than anyone.

Malfoy had an amused look on his face that Harry didn’t care for. “Right,” the corner of his mouth turned upwards, “I guess everything can’t always go the way you want it, not even for the Chosen One.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Harry muttered.

“Apologies, Saviour,” Malfoy was smirking now, his eyes glinting with malice.

“Cut it out, Malfoy,” Harry huffed in frustration, “I never asked to be… you know…” he hated when people used those terms to talk about him like he was someone other than an orphan who had been forced to try to save everybody every year. It made him sound so big-headed when the reality had been something else entirely. Far from glorious.

“The Saviour of the Wizarding and Muggle World as we know it?” Malfoy supplied helpfully. “I bet it must have been very hard for you to be admired by everyone,” his tone dripped with sarcasm.

Harry gave out a deep sigh and leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t want to be admired, I just wanted to be normal,” he lifted the tea to his lips to comfort him, such a pathetic thing to be upset about, this wasn’t the time or the place, “besides, _you_ were admired too, by all of Slytherin, maybe even others had you not been such a knob,” he had to remark.

Malfoy snorted humourlessly. “I wasn’t admired, I was feared, not such a pleasant situation when you find your family name’s been dragged through the mud,” he quirked his eyebrows and sat straighter, putting his cup down and smoothing his jeans.

There was a silence. A bell above the door dinged as the other two customers left. Harry could hear the soft clanging of dishes from the kitchen. “So, here we are then,” he said. Former rivals, current… acquaintances. Harry still hoped they’d be more.

“I guess so,” Malfoy replied quietly. He was looking at Harry, but there was something soft in his eyes that Harry wanted to get closer to.

“Is it weird that I don’t find this weird?” Harry said after a while. He felt like he was talking to an old friend of sorts. Not that they were ever friends, just two people brought together through a shared trauma. What a romantic way to put it.

Malfoy’s mouth quirked into a dry smile. “Yes, definitely,” he replied.

“Or rather… it’s weird, but not in a bad way,” Harry tried again. But it was true, it felt nice, sitting here with Malfoy, having a cup of tea. He didn’t want to run away, and he didn’t want to hex Malfoy into oblivion. To tell the truth, he didn’t want the night to end.

“I agree,” Malfoy said quietly, soaking a scone in his pale pink tea, “I find myself rather shocked that you don’t appear to annoy me beyond compare these days.” His words were his usual repertoire, but something about his expression looked like he didn’t really mean it.

Harry snorted. “I could say the same about you,” he replied, and studied Malfoy’s face. It looked quite soft in these lights, not so pointy, and if Harry experienced a strong but fleeting urge to kiss Malfoy’s cheek, well, no one would have to know.

Malfoy quirked his eyebrows. “I suppose that’s fair, I have to admit I was a bit of a dickhead at school,” he lifted the scone to his mouth and took a bite, frowning like he was deep in thought.

“An understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” Harry commented, and first felt amused, but judging on Malfoy’s face he was drifting towards a conversation he really didn’t care to have.

“Well, it’s not like you weren’t a dick too,” Malfoy retorted and crossed his arms, half a scone still between his two fingers. Well, fuck. Guess they were going to have that conversation then.

“When was I ever a dick?” Harry demanded.

Malfoy’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know, when you almost murdered me? When you stole my wand?” his voice went up an octave, but he kept his voice down to avoid being heard too clearly by the tea lady.

“I said I was sorry about it!” Harry defended. “Besides, I didn’t know what I was doing! _And_ I gave you your wand back. Hardly comparable to your shenanigans.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “’Course, Perfect Potter, always in the right,” he scoffed and leaned back in the chair.

Harry was getting pretty fucking tired of the same lament. “Oh, give it a rest Malfoy, if you loathe me so much why did you ask me here?”

There was a silence where Malfoy was glaring at Harry, but evidently decided to drop the matter. “I don’t _loathe_ you, not entirely at least. As I said, I’m curious about you.”

“Well that’s hardly romantic,” Harry muttered, more to himself than anyone.

“You want romance?” Malfoy sprawled himself on the chair, but looked at Harry with challenge in his eyes. “Oh, a thousand apologies, _Saviour_. How’s this for romance: fourth year, when I first heard about the Yule ball, my first thought was to ask you. Naturally, it was an impossible idea to have, and I ended up going with Pansy, who sat next to me the whole night while I brooded after you in your ridiculous dance robes, wanting to be up there with you,” Malfoy’s expression was a mix of disdain and something more vulnerable, “fifth year, I joined Umbridge’s ranks because I wanted to get your attention, and because I was so insanely jealous of that cow Cho Chang. Sixth year–“

“That’s enough, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted. He didn’t want to hear him insult Ginny or anyone else Harry cared about for that matter. He felt quite overwhelmed. Malfoy had… had a crush on him? It was beyond Harry’s comprehension; the git had always been so incredibly horrible to anyone and everyone. If someone had told him then… well, he would have hardly believed it. He simply wouldn’t have.

“You said you wanted romance,” Malfoy retorted and looked both sarcastic and uncomfortable.

Harry chewed on his lower lip. “I hardly think that’s romance,” he said after a while, “that’s just you being a little shit for not getting what you want.” It was true, although Harry realized too late that it probably wasn’t the best time to say it, what with Malfoy just having been confessing probably the second-biggest secret he’d ever had (if the first one was being a Death Eater). And in any case, Malfoy had had a crush on him? So what? This was just another example of him being a spoiled brat about not getting what he wanted. Though a small part of Harry couldn’t help but be a little flattered, but it was a very, _very_ small part.

Malfoy was getting restless, he was shifting in his seat, looking like he would storm off at any moment. “You really are thick, aren’t you? Can’t you see? You weren’t just some fucking object I wanted from dear father, you were the first fucking person I was fucking in love with. And I couldn’t handle it,” his face had developed some red blotches, “of course I was a fucking prick about it, that’s the only thing I knew how to fucking do!”

Suddenly Harry felt very uncomfortable. Malfoy had been _in love_ with him! That was way more serious than Harry felt okay with, it was about real feelings, something he was piss poor at. Apparently Draco was, too, since he’d been a right git the whole time. And now Harry was painfully aware that he was thinking about Malfoy as _Draco._ Fucking, fucking hell. “Right,” was the only thing he could muster. He wanted to say that it had been mutual but… it really, really hadn’t been.

There was a silence, and then Malfoy shot up to his feet. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he said hastily, his eyes darting around him nervously.

Just as he turned to leave, Harry surged to grab his hand. “Wait, Draco,” he said quickly, and saw Malfoy’s eyes widen at the sound of his given name. He was really quite stunning, come to think of it. Harry was standing at a weird crouching position, so he straightened himself to look him in the eye. “It’s fine,” he said in a steady voice, “listen, let’s go somewhere.”

***

“Well, I suppose it’s safe to say this was not one of your brightest ideas,” Malfoy scoffed, his breath a white mist in the cold air. He was hugging himself and his teeth were clattering. They had meant to take a walk in the cool night air, but the temperature had plummeted from chilly to downright glacial as midnight came around.

Now they were walking in a nearby park, the sound of their boots on the gravel the only sound to be heard. The pond in the middle was not yet frozen, to Harry’s surprise, since he felt like his bones were turning into ice picks. Their Heating Charms were wearing off in minutes. “Potter, my bollocks are positively freezing out here, mind you, you’ll never get to enjoy them if they drop off from the cold.” Malfoy’s tone was cutting, but his words heated Harry’s cheeks right up.

Harry swooped to take Malfoy’s hand, who gave him a very Malfoy-ish Harry-you’re-being-a-complete-tit look. “I hardly think this is going to–“ and then Harry Sidealonged him.

Their boots hit the carpet with a thump. The light inside was blinding compared with the flickering streetlights of the park. Harry waved his wand to make them a bit dimmer. A familiar warmth wrapped around him as he shook off his outer cloak and hung it on a stand next to his front door. His house was simple and cosy, and roomy, perhaps a bit too roomy for just him. Why had he thought he needed four bedrooms? The real-estate witch had been very keen on him having them though. _You never know who’s going to pop by the Chosen One, eh?_

“Right, cheers,” Malfoy said, looking around the hallway, “I assume this is your residence?” he continued politely, eyeing the few chairs pushed against the wall and the antique drawer Harry’d taken from Grimmauld Place that nicely clashed with the toned-down colour theme of his house. “Lovely.” Perhaps the comment was meant to be sardonic, but it came out softer than Harry would’ve expected.

“So if you still want me to hex your ears off I think I can do that right about now,” Malfoy gave Harry a nervous smirk, “remember I’m a Healer, I can do it quite neatly.”

“W-what?” Harry stumbled.

“I offered to do that, remember? So if this date turns out to be a disaster you can always tell people I lured you into a devious trap with my exceptionally good looks,” the smirk on Malfoy’s face faltered just a little.

“Oh, right, I think I’m good, but thanks,” Harry responded and tried to smile back, but found his face numb with nervousness. “Besides, surely I could just tell everyone that you tried to hex me, you wouldn’t have to actually do it,” he remarked.

Malfoy’s smile relaxed a bit at that. “Well, yes, the hexing part would more be for my own entertainment,” his grin widened and his eyes were sparkling in a devious way that Harry noticed made his heart race.

“You’re such a dickhead!” Harry huffed amusedly, shaking his head.

“I suppose I am,” Malfoy replied, and then it was very quiet again. Harry dared to look at him. His grey eyes looked gentle, his face not quite as pointy as it usually was, and his hair was in an organized chaos that made him look very stunningly dishevelled. In fact, he looked really quite lovely, quite kissable, in Harry’s opinion. “Er… do you want to come in? I mean, I can make us some tea, if you’d like.” Suddenly Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest, it was like he was in a crossroads of unknown options.

Malfoy looked at him like he was thick. Maybe he was. “We just had tea,” he said dumbly, completely missing – or ignoring – the fact that this was Harry’s pathetic attempt to come onto him. God, he _was_ thick, Harry would never have the suaveness to charm Draco. “Anyway,” Draco continued, and Harry was once again aware that he was calling Malfoy Draco in his head, “I’m not that kind of a man, and more importantly, you’re not either.”

Harry felt a flush creeping from head to toe. “Right, sorry, ‘course not, I just wanted… er, I don’t know, more time with you, maybe?” he was mumbling and scratching the back of his head again, swaying on his feet a bit. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck._ Harry was wracking his brain trying to come up with a smooth way to tell Draco he very much wanted to kiss him, and maybe get into his pants, even if that came later?

Draco’s mouth quirked into a shy – _shy!_ – smile. “I suppose that would require a second date, then, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry felt a smile spread across his face, but his hands were still trembling. He hoped Draco wouldn't notice. “Yeah, I’dlikethat,” he mumbled, simultaneously excited for and terrified of another date with the blond git who made his heart race like mad.

“Maybe next time I’ll stay for tea,” Draco hummed and took a step towards Harry, making him lightheaded of the implications. Harry felt himself swaying were he stood, he felt extremely aware of how small the gap was between him and something quite delicious. “You know…” Draco continued, his nose almost nuzzling Harry’s now. “If you’ll still have me–“

He was cut off by Harry, surging forward and closing the gap between them by pressing his mouth on Draco’s warm lips. They were so very soft, Harry acknowledged, and almost moaned into the kiss. He noticed that Draco was kissing him back with quite the enthusiasm, and then he actually did moan into the kiss. His hands were traveling under Draco’s coat and along his jumper, while Draco’s hands were fitted neatly against Harry’s cheek and neck.

Harry sucked Draco’s bottom lip, which earned a small gasp from him, and another deep kiss ending in a nibble of Harry’s own lip. God, it had been so long since he’d had a good snog, but this was something even better, because it was so completely bizarre and so completely lovely to be snogging _Malfoy_ of all people. But he wasn’t Malfoy, really, he was Draco, now, and somehow that made it all the more intimate.

Harry’s hands found the hem of Draco’s jumper and soon his palms were traveling up his sides. The skin under his fingertips was smooth and hot like it was on fire. Harry moved his head to attach his mouth onto Draco’s neck, but it was like breaking a trance of some sort. “Really, I should get going,” Draco breathed while Harry was sucking a love bite on the soft skin. To Harry’s great disappointment, he moved away from his touch, only a few centimetres, but enough for Harry to make a sound of complaint. “Trust me, this might be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do,” Draco snorted, a bit breathlessly. His cheeks and neck were flushed, and his fringe was hanging softly on his face. His lips were red and puffy, and Harry moved to kiss them, very softly. He could hear the sigh Draco made, and it travelled straight into Harry’s crotch.

“Fine, but don’t keep me waiting too long,” Harry frowned and moved away, pulling his hands from under Draco’s shirt.

Draco took a deep breath like he was trying to steady himself, which he probably was, judging on the very visible bulge in front of his jeans. Harry bit his lip at the sight. “When are you free next?” Draco asked quietly. There was a determined fire behind his eyes.

“Next weekend,” Harry replied.

“Right, I have to work Friday, but on Saturday I’m taking you out, on a proper date.”

“Or… you know,” Harry bit his lip again, “you could come straight here?” In any other situation he would have hated to sound so desperate but, right now, he couldn’t have cared less. He wanted Draco, quite fucking badly.

The corner of Draco’s mouth turned upwards. “No, you deserve to be wooed,” he said, and Harry’s jaw dropped from sheer surprise of it all, “early dinner, next week Saturday, dress to impress,” Draco lifted Harry’s hand to his lips and kissed it while looking into Harry’s eyes. It was too much, it was all too much. “I bid you good night.” Draco leaned in to kiss Harry on the cheek, before turning and showing himself out. A faint crack of the Disapparition could be heard from the other side of the closed door.

Harry was left by himself with the vague but unshakable feeling that something within him had fundamentally changed.

***

Next Saturday, Draco showed up at Harry’s door, dressed in formal robes. He kissed Harry’s cheek politely, and Apparated them into a very posh restaurant off Diagon Alley. He was very much himself the whole night, only nicer, and funnier, and infinitely more beautiful than Harry ever remembered him to be. He tasted the wine for them, he taught Harry which cutlery was used for which course, and he paid the bill, all the while making fun of how utterly dull and old fashioned all of it was.

And when they stepped out of the restaurant into the freezing air, Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and Apparated them both right back to where they had been standing a week before in Harry’s hallway. And before Harry could pretend to offer him tea, Draco was already kissing him against the front door, his hands traveling up and down Harry’s body, nibbling his ear, sucking his neck until Harry was moaning in his hair.

Harry wound up Apparating them straight into his bedroom, pulling off clothes as fast as he could. After a few dozen seconds of panting and a hurricane of clothes flying off, they were standing in front of each other in their pants, and the awkward thought of _This is Draco fucking Malfoy_ never passed through Harry’s mind as the only thing he could think of was how much he _wanted_ the man standing in front of him. It was really quite ridiculous how he had never wanted anyone more.

Without thinking anything much, Harry fell on his knees in front of Draco, whose cheeks were flushed red and whose eyes were hazily looking at Harry, now fumbling to pull Draco’s pants down. It was sloppy and wet and awkward, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling of how kind of lovely it was at the same time. He let Draco lay him down on his bed and kiss him so gently a soft whimper escaped his lips as his eyes pressed tightly shut.

After a few more soft gasps drawn out by Draco’s tongue, he kissed Harry’s neck, and his chest, sucked on his nipple – a wonderfully bizarre experience that awarded him with a surprised moan from Harry – and traced the V on Harry’s hips with his lips, he pulled down Harry’s pants and took his cock into his mouth. The whole procedure was very gentle and _very_ thorough, with Harry simply _writhing_ on the bed under Draco’s steady mouth.

And in the morning, when Harry found himself – still naked – curled up around Draco, who had evidently not left during the night, he felt an odd calmness settle in his bones.

A calmness that told him that something quite wonderful was about to start.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)


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